The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as little Viviana skipped down the dusty path toward home. Her small hand clutched a wilting wildflower, a gift for her mother. "Mama! Mama Emma!" she called out, her voice bright and happy, echoing slightly in the quiet air. She reached the small, neatly kept cottage, its wooden walls weathered but sturdy. At the front porch, she carefully slipped off her worn leather shoes, placing them neatly beside her mother's slightly larger, equally worn pair. A small smile touched her lips as she dusted her tiny, bare feet on the rough coir doormat.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, a chorus of cruel voices drifted from the nearby lane.
"Look, it's the dirt girl!" a boy sneered.
"Her dress has patches again!" a girl chimed in, her voice sharp.
"They say her mother barely has enough for bread!" another added, followed by mocking laughter.
Viviana paused, her small shoulders slumping. The joy from moments before drained away, replaced by a familiar ache, she wanted to throw her shoe at one of them but mama Emma said fighting is not good for a child. She sighed, a sound too weary for her young age, and murmured so softly it was almost a breath, "Bullies." She wouldn't cry, not where they could see. She straightened her back, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, before turning the old brass doorknob. The wood creaked a welcome as she stepped inside.
The usual comforting scent of baking bread or simmering herbs was absent. Instead, a tense silence hung heavy in the air, a silence that prickled her skin. Then, she heard it – voices, low and terrifying.
"Do you really believe you can run forever, Emma?" a man's voice, hoarse and harsh like stones grinding together, cut through the stillness. " Where is she?"
Viviana's heart began to thump against her ribs. She tiptoed, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floorboards, towards the archway that led to their small sitting room. Peeking around the edge of the wall, her eyes widened at the scene before her.
Her nanny, Emma, was kneeling on the floor. Her usually proud shoulders were slumped, her head bowed. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, trembling. "Please," her nanny's voice was thin, stretched with fear. "Please, forgive me. I beg you, don't kill me."
Opposite her nanny, lounging on their best, albeit threadbare, sofa, sat a man. He was dressed in rich, dark fabrics – velvets and silks that seemed to absorb the light in the room. Rings glinted on his fingers as he idly tapped them on the armrest. He looked important, powerful. "Maybe he's a noble," Viviana thought, a flicker of awe mixed with her fear. "But why is mummy kneeling to him? Did she do something wrong?"
Suddenly, the man moved. It was a swift, brutal motion. His hand shot out, and the sound of a slap, sharp and vicious, cracked through the room. Emma cried out, a choked gasp, as she fell sideways from her kneeling position. Her head hit the floor with a dull thud. A dark red welt was already blooming on her cheek, and a trickle of blood ran from her nose, staining her pale skin and the worn wooden planks.
"Mama!" Viviana screamed, forgetting her fear, forgetting to hide. She lurched forward, desperate to reach her nanny.
"Stay back, Viviana!" Emma cried out, her voice thick with pain and terror, her eyes wide with a desperate warning. "Don't come any closer!"
The man on the sofa slowly turned his head. His eyes, cold and assessing, fixed on Viviana. This was the first time he had truly acknowledged her presence. He spoke, his voice devoid of any warmth, "She's the daughter of the traitor, isn't she? The little rat he left behind." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.
Emma shook her head aggressively, pushing herself up slightly despite her obvious pain. "No! No, she has nothing to do with this! She's my child!" She lied, at least to save Viviana.
The rich man stood up, his tall frame casting a long, menacing shadow that engulfed her mother. He took a deliberate step towards Viviana, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. Viviana froze, her small body trembling. He then turned back to Emma and said something in a low, chilling tone that Viviana didn't understand, words that seemed to seal her mother's fate. He then gave a slight nod to another man who had been standing silently by the wall – a lean figure Viviana hadn't noticed before.
The lean man moved with frightening speed. A glint of silver flashed in his hand – a long, slender dagger. Before Emma could react, before Viviana could even scream again, the man lunged. He plunged the dagger deep into her nanny's chest.
Emma gasped, a horrible, wet, gurgling sound. Her eyes, wide with shock and agony, found Viviana's. Then, she slumped forward, the dagger hilt protruding grotesquely from her simple dress. Blood, dark and thick, began to spread rapidly across the fabric and pool onto the floorboards beneath her.
"Mummy! Mama Emma, wake up!" Viviana shrieked, tears streaming down her face, her voice raw with disbelief and a pain so immense it felt like her own heart was being torn apart. She scrambled towards her nanny, but the lean man blocked her path with a heavy arm.
The rich man, his face impassive, looked around the small, humble room with disdain. "Burn this place down," he commanded the burly man, his voice flat. "I don't want to see any traces of life here."
The lean man looked from the still form of Emma to the terrified, sobbing child. "What about the child, sir?" he asked, his voice rough.
The rich man was already walking towards the entrance. He paused at the doorway, his back to the scene. "Burn her together with her mother. No witnesses." He didn't even turn around as he uttered the sentence.
The lean man nodded. He pulled out a flask, uncorked it, and began to splash a clear, acrid-smelling liquid over the furniture, over the curtains, over Emma's body. The smell stung Viviana's nostrils. He then struck a match. The tiny flame flickered, then roared to life as he tossed it onto a doused rug.
Flames erupted with a hungry whoosh, licking up the walls, devouring everything in their path. The heat was intense, suffocating. Viviana, coughing from the rapidly thickening smoke, tried desperately to pull her nanny away from the growing fire. Emma's body was heavy, limp.
Her nanny's eyes fluttered open, just for a moment. A flicker of the strong, loving woman Viviana knew. "Viviana…my brave girl…" she rasped, her voice barely a whisper. Blood bubbled at her lips. "I'm so sorry… forgive me… I promised your mother I would take care of you… Live… you must live…"
With a final, monumental effort, Emma used her last strength. Her blood dripped onto the wooden floor, sizzling as the fire drew closer. She pushed Viviana, hard, towards the back door of the cottage, dragging the girl with her weakening arms. "It is an honor to serve you my Lady now go. Go! Run!"
She managed to shove Viviana out into the small back garden, then, with a groan, she pulled the door shut. The heavy bolt slid into place from the inside with a sickening thud.
"MAMA EMMA! NO! OPEN THE DOOR!" Viviana screamed, pounding on the sturdy wood with her small fists. She clawed at the door, but it wouldn't budge. The heat was becoming unbearable even outside. Smoke billowed from under the eaves. The crackling of the fire was a deafening roar. She could hear things crashing inside.
"MAMA!!!" she shrieked, her throat raw, tears and soot smudging her face.
Just then, with a sound like a giant beast roaring in agony, the cottage exploded. A wave of heat and force threw Viviana backwards, and she landed hard on the ground, the air knocked from her lungs. Debris rained down around her.
"MAMA!!!!"